Heart of Ice
by delilah13407
Summary: Will one woman be able to open her heart after the horrors she suffered in the past?  Will anybody be able to melt her heart of ice?  Therox later on.


_**Hey, everyone. I'm back with another story. It's been a while since I've posted anything on this site and I hope you're all still interested. This starts as a story about Theresa and how she copes with a tragedy in the past. It will eventually turn out to be a Therox. Please tell me what you all think.**_

_**Heart of Ice**_

_Prologue_

_The past_

Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald sighed heavily as she listened to yet another one of her parents' heated arguments. That's all she ever heard these days, bickering. Ever since her father had come back from his so-called business trip. He was gone three weeks and Theresa could tell the minute he was back something was wrong. He wasn't the same as when he left. He'd changed. These last few days all he ever wanted to do was argue. That wasn't like her father. Martin Fitzgerald didn't go picking fights. But that's exactly what he was doing now.

Theresa thought about what her younger sisters and brother must be thinking. She desperately wished she could leave her room and check but knew she shouldn't. Her bedroom cut off from the living room and she didn't want her parents to know she was listening. But how could she not? She heard their voices move to their bedroom but still decided to wait until things cooled down before leaving her sanctuary. Then she heard nothing. It unnerved her. She heard no voices, no hushed obscenities, nothing. Theresa was uneasy. She wondered if Ginnie was keeping Lucy and Mikey in the playroom down the hall. Besides Theresa, it was Virginia Lopez-Fitzgerald's place to help take care of Lucinda and Michael. She was, after all, one of their many older sisters. They all had two older sisters and one older brother living their lives out of the house. Off to college, Theresa knew.

The oldest was Jason, or as his sisters called him, Jase, who had an apartment just outside of town. Then there were Jennifer, the second oldest, who went to college out of state, and Heidi, who was out of the country traveling. Out of three, Jen was by far the most mature. Martin and Pilar Fitzgerald had been terrified letting their children leave home, but they were grateful they had a few years before they would lose any more children. Theresa was next, and she was only sixteen.

Theresa dragged herself out of her reverie. Thinking about her siblings always had a calming effect on her, but now she had more pressing matters to deal with. Like why the silence dragged on, why no one said anything. It was an eerie sound, she thought. She hated it being so quiet she could hear herself breathe, could hear her heart beat, and it was beating faster and louder by the second.

She pressed her ear to her door wondering if they were now using hushed voices. No sound came. She hated this. She watched television, and this was one of those times she wished she hadn't. She didn't want to be like the girl who heard something in the basement and went to investigate. At least in the movies they have that eerie music that lets you know something's going to happen. She opened her door, half expecting a black cat to jump at her, or somebody to start screaming. Nothing happened. She walked down the hall a ways. She came upon a silhouetted figure.

"Daddy?" She felt stupid feeling this terrified. She knew it was her father before she asked. But instead of relaxing, her body remained stiff. She felt ready to attack should it become necessary. She was being ridiculous. Even as that thought crossed her mind, her gaze fell to the huddled figures on the floor just a couple of feet from where her father stood. As she was about to laugh at her stupidity, a gleam of silver caught her eye. Her father's hand held a very sharp, very bloody knife.

"Run, Theresa! Go!" Ginnie's voice, Theresa knew. She sounded so terrified. Before Theresa could register, before she could understand what was going on, her father raised his hand. Then her younger sister's plea broke through her shock. Her father was bringing the knife down. Ginnie was sobbing over Lucy and Mikey, trying to cover their bodies with her own.

"NO!" Theresa screamed, not recognizing her own terrified voice. She ran between her siblings and the knife her father held. It cut through flesh, her own flesh. Her arm, Theresa realized as her father pulled the knife out, was bleeding, but she knew it could have been much worst. Her interference had given her siblings a chance to slip away. And they'd done just that, thank God, Theresa thought. But not far enough, she realized in panic. They'd crawled under their father's outstretched arm to get behind him, but now they were just standing there, looking at her with wide eyes, their tears freely running down their faces. And he was turning around! Oh Lord, he thought he put her out of commission. He thought she was dead, or almost, and now he was going to finish them off. Theresa wasn't sure she had the strength to get off the floor, but she had to find it. She felt so weak, and blood was still pouring out of her arm.

"Ginnie, get them out of here! Go, get them out!" But Ginnie was adamantly shaking her head. Theresa felt her hopes plummet.

"Theresa, you have to get out too." Ginnie insisted, backing up as her father moved toward her. She made sure Lucy and Mikey stayed behind her.

Theresa could tell their father was gaining on her sisters and brother. She pushed herself off the floor, using more energy than she thought she had. A wave of dizziness swept over her. She ignored it. She lunged at her father with everything she had, hoping to knock him off balance, hoping for a miracle. She didn't get that miracle. Her father was a big man and her weight didn't budge him. Instead, he lifted her until her feet no longer touched the floor, and threw her across the room as if she were a rag doll. She hit the wall and lie there motionless, unable to move.

Theresa looked at her sisters and brother with regretful eyes. They were backed against the wall, their father's expressionless face looming over them. Lord, how she wanted to save them, to take their place. How could something like this happen? She didn't understand. Their father loved them. So why was he trying to kill them? She felt so helpless. She hated that feeling more than anything in the world. "No." She meant the word to be screamed, but it came out a whisper, haunting only her own ears. She wanted to scream, but all she could manage to do was whimper. She wanted to yell and to cry and to throw something, but she lie there with silent tears running down her cheeks. She felt only despair. Theresa Lopez-

Fitzgerald had never been that helpless in her life, and now she knew it wasn't possible to be that helpless ever again. Theresa heard her own agonized heart-wrenching sob even before her sister's shocked gasp as the knife went through her heart. She never screamed. Theresa knew she was dead before she hit the floor.

Now it was up to Lucy and Mikey to fend for themselves. Theresa tried to scream, do anything that may have saved her siblings' lives. No sound came out. In the end, her only hope was that her father was quick about it and didn't make them suffer. She prayed with all her willpower they didn't suffer. Their faces represented a mixture of shock and horror as they cried before their father. Theresa closed her eyes tightly so she didn't have to look at their faces and know she let them down. She tried to block out their sobs and pleas, she tried to block out the images of their demise. And then the noise was gone completely. The room was quiet and all Theresa could feel was pain and isolation. And shock. Yes, she could feel the shock. She assumed other emotions such as anger and hatred would follow suit, but now she felt very much alone.

When she opened her eyes, it was to see her father's cold and empty ones glaring at her. It was as if he didn't see her there, as if he were looking through her. But she knew he was aware she was there. He started advancing toward her. She almost couldn't wait for him to stick that knife through her heart. She was sick of the agonizing pain she was feeling. She no longer had any reason to live. It would be so easy to just let go. All she had to do was lie there, he would do the rest. She found she couldn't do that. It would be the easy way out, but Theresa had never done things the easy way. She was complicated. She wasn't a quitter. She couldn't just let him kill her. Wouldn't that be suicide? If she didn't put up a fight, wouldn't she be letting him kill her? A part of her was ready to die, but the other, more sensible part, was ready to fight. And she would. Because that's who she was. She'd always been the one willing to fight, willing to defend herself and her family. She glanced around the room, looking for a possible weapon. Her eyes landed on a pair of scissors on a stand only a few feet away. If she could only reach, if she could only get to those scissors…

Her thoughts were cut short as he charged her. She jumped out of the way with inches to spare, now within reach of the scissors. She grabbed them, turned around, and pointed them at her father. "You stay there, you hear me? I'm not afraid to stab you!" Her voice was shaking, and she was just glad she could use it at all. However, she sounded fierce even to herself. Her father didn't seem to hear her. She looked at him, and wasn't at all sure who she was looking at. This wasn't her father. He couldn't be. Her father loved her, he loved all his children. He couldn't possibly hurt them, could he? But he had, Theresa reminded herself. He killed her younger siblings, he tried to kill her. And just as she decided all she wanted to do was sink down on the floor and cry her eyes out, he ran at her full force. Theresa had no doubt he would've killed her had she not had the scissors in hand pointing at him. Instead of his knife being plunged into her heart, her scissors plunged through his stomach. He fell to the floor gasping, and she was well aware when he took his last breath.

She felt drained. The nightmare was over and she could feel nothing but anguish. The expected relief did not come. She knew why. It was because the nightmare was not really over, it had just begun. And she wasn't sure it ever would be over. The adrenaline that had pushed her this far had died out, and she fell to the floor in a heap beside her father's lifeless body, weeping for all the lives lost, the lives she could have saved. Theresa looked toward the room that had been her parents'. The door was closed. She knew that beyond that door lie the still and lifeless body of her mother, a red liquid seeping through her beautiful white blouse. But Theresa didn't open the door, knowing that if she did it would all be real. She wouldn't be able to disillusion herself any longer. Opening that door would make her nightmare real. Her mother would be dead. Virginia would be dead. Lucinda would be dead. Michael would be dead. So young…they had all been so young. In the end, Theresa couldn't suppress her agony any longer. She let out a blood-curdling scream that could make anybody's heart bleed.

_**Okay, so tell me what you all think. Should I continue this?**_


End file.
